The Tenth Knight
by Red Raider
Summary: Sequel to KNIGHTS OF THE NINE expansion. William had never thought that the sword his father had given him was special in anyway. But when a dark evil returns, Will is forced not only to fight for Cyrodil but his very soul as well. Please read and review


The sword felt like nothing in his hands. Strange. It was the same size as any other two-handed sword, he supposed it was made of a similar metal. He wasn't sure though, he had never bothered to find out. But the fact that he could swing this sword around his head several times and not break a sweat did not cross his mind. He knew this sword. It was his sword. No explanation was neccassary. There has always been a special relationship between the man and the weapon he carries, and there always will be. Be it a sword or a mace or a bow and arrow. The man decides who lives and who dies with his weapon, and that gives him total control.

William Fairhurst had received this sword from his father. When his father lay in his bed, moments from death, his last words were to his only son. And in those words he left his greatest sword to Will. The sword had been more of a family heirloom, his father had won it during his younger days as a Knight and had displayed it proudly above the fireplace in their great house. His father had barely spoke of it, all he would say is that the sword is priceless and that it should stay in the family forever.

But the only member of that family was Will. His mother had taken her own life shortly after the death of his father and they had no living relatives. Since Will was an only child he became the last living member of his family, something he resented. Their great house and their possessions were taken by the corrupt lords of the land, their excuse was that Will was a minor. But that was a long time ago, now Will was in his early twenties.

But he did not seek revenge either, he didn't want to live a life left to him by his parents. Maybe he was being foolish, but he wanted to earn his own life. His original plans were to join the Fighter's Guild although they wouldn't allow him. They never told him why. Instead Will joined the Arena, as a combatant. He had fought and killed many, all with his sword that was left to him by his father. And now his big fight had come, to be champion was what he had fought for. And now he had one more fight...

The sword felt like nothing in his hands. Strange to some, but it wasn't to Will. He began his journey up to the arena, where his life would be made... or destroyed. The stairway was slippery, even though it was hard stone. But Will knew why the stairs were a slippery surface. Blood flowed everywhere in this place. It was often said 'too many people are killed in the arena' but this is what it was all about.

The light shone on Will's armour and, when he looked up, it shone brightly on his young face. His short, blond hair glowed in the sunlight and his blue eyes reflected a wonderful sparkle. Not the usual appearance of a killer, not even that of a gladiator.

The crowd's cheering and whistling were far away from Will's thoughts, his heart beat and breathing were louder. They raced a mile a minute, even though he was trying to slow them down. Focus. He had to focus. Will closed his eyes. There was no arena. There were no crowds. There was no champion planning his downfall. There was only his heart, his breath... and his sword.

That sound.

That beautiful sound.

The sound of the gates lowered. Will opened his eyes. There was the arena. There were the crowds. And there was the champion, charging at him from the other side. Even from far off, Will could see the rage in her eyes and the hunger for his death. She was a large woman, with too much muscle and not enough heart. Maybe she lost it. Most gladiators here had lost their will for life. The champion was armed with a great axe, big enough to squash Will with one stroke. His own sword seemed pale and pathetic compared to this axe. But looks are always decieving.

The champion wasn't messing around, she brought her axe down on Will straight away, hoping for a killing stroke. Will effortlessly rolled to the side, but the champion had been expecting this. With her free hand she struck Will before he could regain his balance. Falling to the floor with a terrible thud was unpleasant and disorientating, but nothing to damaging. Just as the champion was about to bring her axe in for a second strike, Will jumped up and blocked the attack.

Madness. How could a sword block such an axe? But it did, and Will knew it would. Somehow. He knew.

Will turned with such speed and agility that the champion thought he had vanished for a split second. And a split second is all you need in this game. Will sliced off the arm that held the axe and, ignoring the deafening cry of pain, struck the champion across her face. The sword didn't quite cleave her head, instead there was left a bloody mess. But Will did not care, why should he? He was champion now.

The priest had prayed at the altar for every day of his life. He climbed the small hill every morning and returned for early afternoon every day. He made this journey because he knew how close Cyrodil had come to total annhilation. He also knew that nine knights had fought against the greatest evil, and that one of them had been victorious. So, every day the priest made the journey and prayed... thanking the Gods for the Knights of the Nine.

This day was like any other, the priest had passed the same tradesmen along the way and the sun shone brightly. Apparently today was special for the Imperial City because the Champion had been challenged by a young gladiator. But the priest did not care much for what the big city had to offer.

His praying was the same as every other day too. The stone altar that had been built decades ago was the same. The ground he knelt on was the same. Everything was the same and nothing was unusual.

The altar trembled.

The ground started to shake.

The priest rose to his feet.

The ground shook violently.

The priest look up at the altar.

The altar broke.

The evil had returned...


End file.
